Author's Note: Surprise fact- Ciudat Atragereaactually came about as the result of 3 different stories that sorta got mashed together and split apart as time went on. One of those stories was a semi-thriller about how Integra and Seras get stuck in the Vatican during a Siren attack.
While the story never went in that direction—though it's easy to see what parts I kept—the main plot of that story didn't wither and assimilate into CA like the others did. So, without further ado, here is my latest Masterpiece Theater reject—"Magical Primogeniture".
"Enjoying yourself, Police Girl?" Integra glanced at her traveling companion with equal parts distaste and amusement. The younger woman was all but bouncing in her chair like a small child, looking around the airplane cabin with an expression of sheer excitement.
"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed as the airline hostess walked by. The elderly hostess gave her a strange look, but Seras seemed unperturbed. "I've never actually been in a plane before, much less first-class!" She adjusted her reflective sunglasses on her nose and smiled broadly—though close-lipped for good measure—at a little boy staring in their direction from a few seats ahead.
"This isn't a pleasure cruise, Agent Victoria," Integra reminded her sharply, looking back at the book resting in her lap. "You are my bodyguard for the duration of my stay in the Vatican, and it would do you well to remember your station." Seras deflated, a pout forming on her lips.
"I know, I know," she muttered, crossing her legs and moving them restlessly in her seat. "Master drilled me on it all last night. He's really pissed that you won't let him go, too. He kept glaring at me, though I have to admit that part of that might have been because I'd stopped listening to him."
She made a face. "He complains like a little kid whenever he doesn't get his way…." She clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes flitted to meet Integra's. "D-don't tell him I said that. I don't need another one of his "obedience lessons" anytime soon."
"I don't plan on telling him that, Agent Victoria," Integra replied, a rare smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. "In fact, I'm rather inclined to agree with you on that point. He does act more like a spoiled prince rather than a vampire king at times." Seras giggled and nodded.
"I know! Whenever you don't give him permission to do something, I hear about it all night long!" She covered her mouth again, eyes guilty. "Not that I'm cutting your judgment, ma'am—sir."
"It's quite alright," Integra said, marking her place in her book and looking the younger woman full in the eyes. "You don't have to worry about holding your tongue in front of me. I hear far worse from your commanding officers, I assure you. At least you can stand being in the same room as Alucard for more than ten minutes without feeling the need to write a formal complaint."
"Oh, I feel the need," Seras joked. "I just don't go through with it." She giggled again and then watched the hostess go by with a tray of drinks. "How soon until we get there, do you think?"
"Oh, another half-hour or so should do it," Integra answered, looking down at her wristwatch with a frown. "A cab should already be waiting to take us to the hotel that we'll stay in tonight."
"What?" Seras' brow furrowed in puzzlement. "We're not going straight to the Vatican? I thought we were going to stay there; Master kept drilling me on how to sleep with one eye open, so to speak." She deepened her voice and did a surprisingly accurate mockery of the ancient vampire. "That Judas Priest and his disciples will be breathing down your neck all night, Police Girl. It's your job to protect our master, and you can't do that if you're being tacked to the wall with a bayonet while still snoring."
"We'll remain at the Vatican for the rest of our stay," Integra explained, "but for tonight we'll settle on a penthouse suite near the airport. I don't want to go in front of the Pope looking like I just sat on a two-and-a-half hour flight." She looked up just in time to catch Seras' incredulous smirk, accompanied by a muffled snort. "What is it now, Agent Victoria?" she snapped, and Seras' eyes widened considerably as she realized that her boss had seen the expression.
"Well—it's just—I mean, not to be rude, but…" Seras looked away, her cheeks stained bright pink. "You always look exactly the same, sir."
"So do you, Police Girl." Seras flinched and laughed awkwardly.
"Well, you know what I meant. But I don't mind staying at a penthouse, either. I've never been in one." She looked sad for a moment. "I wish… I wish I could order room service. It wouldn't be the same unless I had the entire package all at once." She caught the heiress' eye once more and shrugged. "I've never lived high-class before. What's the term for it? Bourgeoisie or something?"
"I haven't the slightest," Integra remarked dryly and turned back to her novel. They passed the remainder of the flight in silence, Seras busying herself with inciting laughter from a nearby baby by making faces while Integra finished her book and then closed her eyes, waiting serenely for the piolet to prepare them for landing.
"I've always wanted to tell someone to "put it on the tab"," Seras said later as she poured herself a glass of what Integra assured her was delicious wine. Seras had wanted to get the most expensive on the menu, but Integra had also assured her that if Walter had seen the price for that on the bill, it would have given the poor butler a heart attack. She took a cautious sip and nearly purred at the taste—it wasdivine, from the bubbly consistency to the smooth way it flowed down her throat when she swallowed.
"You're easily amused, aren't you, Police Girl?" Integra sniffed as she looked at her own plate of filet mignon. She took a bite and chewed slowly, her eyes locked on the papers she had carried in her suitcase. She was meeting with several very important political figures in the Vatican over the next few days, and she was never one to just "wing it". She wanted to know everything about the men she had to talk to, so that she could be prepared for almost any scenario.
"Well—no, I just watch a lot of television," Seras admitted. "They always say things like that on the telly." She was watching television as they spoke, though at Integra's insistence it was muted. It didn't matter—all the channels were in Italian anyway, and she could only guess what was happening in the soap opera she was watching.
"Is that so?" Integra murmured, but it was clear that she wasn't really listening. Seras sipped her wine and tried to figure out why the character on the screen was sobbing hysterically, though she couldn't decide if the man with the eyepatch had broken up with her, or if the middle-aged woman with the heavy makeup had told her something offensive. For all she knew, it was both.
"This place gives me the shivers," Seras mumbled as they stepped out of the cab. Ever since they'd passed into the Vatican City, the Draculina had been on edge in a way that Integra had never seen her before.
"Nerves?" she asked, feeling some concern for her "bodyguard". Seras shook her head, looking around with a wary eye, keeping her sun parasol close to her head. The day was overcast, but both women weren't taking chances. Without the (quite fashionable) trench coat and parasol, the poor girl ran the risk of a nasty sunburn should the clouds clear.
"No, sir." She sniffed and suppressed a jerky movement that Integra couldn't place to any certain emotion. "But… it's protected," she finally declared.
"Whatever do you mean?" Integra asked under her breath as they waited at the gates for someone to come and meet them. On the outside, the building they stood in front of was no different than any of the other office buildings on the road. But they were assured by their driver that this was the headquarters for Vatican Special Forces: Section XIII.
"It's something I can't really explain," Seras replied apologetically. "It's more like a general feeling that I'm not supposed to be here." Integra frowned, but something caught her eye and she pointed up at the threshold of the gate.
"That's probably it," she noted. A paper was tacked on the tip of the gate's summit with a single nail. There were more identical papers on nearly identical nails scattered at regular intervals along the walls surrounding the building. Integra had dismissed them without really looking closely as some sort of advertisement or political poster, but now she could see it was clearly a barrier, albeit a weaker one. It was made to hold off small attackers, and not more powerful creatures like Alucard or Seras. Of course, that didn't mean Seras couldn't be affected by them.
"You can see those?" Seras blurted out in surprise, her eyes cast upwards as well. "I thought—I assumed all humans couldn't see them. I just thought that because I was a vampire I could." True to her word, every human that walked down the sidewalk didn't spare a single glance at the papers nailed to the walls. Integra would've betted her fortune that there were more scattered all around the city; that would explain Seras' unease about being on hallowed ground.
"I'm not like other humans, Agent Victoria. I'd have thought you would have noticed by now." Seras blushed and nodded, but before she could say more a man stepped beyond the doors. He glanced up at the clouded sky, and then at the two women standing just beyond the gate's reach. His eyebrows rose as he took in Seras' overdressed state, but he said nothing as he came forward.
He was an older man, dressed in the habit of a priest and carrying a book beneath one arm. His wizened features were browned with sun and age, and his hair was a steely gray. It was neatly combed and his thin face was clean-shaven, save for a mustache. He wore large round glasses, behind which his eyes shone with an intelligent light. He reached them and bowed, offering a hand to them both.
"Greetings Sir Hellsing." Integra shook his hand, but her face was schooled into a frown that already seemed more contemptuous than friendly. "Young lady." Seras smiled brightly at him and got a small secondary nod in return. Seras saw that his eyes were nearly the same shade of gray as his hair. "I am Father Renaldo, and I welcome you to Rome. I trust everything has been to your satisfaction so far?"
"Oh yes," Seras said when Integra didn't respond. "It's been quite lovely, actually." The priest's eyebrows rose slightly, as if surprised that either of them had answered. He turned after a moment and ushered them through the gate with a hand motion.
"Well, then; this way. Bishop Maxwell is expecting you. If you'll just follow me…." he trailed off, leading the way into the building. Integra pursed her lips and Seras huffed, leaning in close to speak into the heiress's ear.
"You know, a smile goes a long way," she chided with clenched teeth, trying hard to keep from letting her vexation show. "You don't have to reinforce the stereotype that all English are rude tossers. All they need now is proof that we don't know how to cook and they'll be set for life."
"We don't show friendliness to the enemy," Integra replied solemnly, her frown still firmly in place.
"Well, they're not really the enemy, are they? More like rivals, really. I didn't say let them walk all over us," she added when Integra didn't reply. "Just act more relaxed, is all. They're not bloody likely to attack us when they're the ones that offered a "peaceful meeting". If you act like you're expecting an attack, they'll think they've got into your head." She smiled at the secretary as they passed the reception desk and made it to the elevator.
Integra looked as though she wanted to argue, but when they were in the elevator there was no way to speak without Renaldo overhearing. She looked cross, but Seras noticed that her shoulders slowly relaxed and she let out a breath. She looked back at Seras, who offered an encouraging nod when the priest's back was to them.
"Here we go," Renaldo spoke up when the elevator stopped at "4F". "From here, it's only a mere flight of stairs to the private offices." The elevator doors open and the three were accosted by a flurry of activity. "What in the—?" the priest exclaimed, looking at the people running to and fro.
"Oh, Father," a male with a shaggy goatee said breathlessly as they all stepped out and the elevator doors closed behind them. "What do you think? The copier's broken."
"Again?" Renaldo sighed, shaking his head. "Are you sure it's not simply jammed?"
"No," said a female with bright red curls cascading down her back. Seras thought that her eyes were incredibly pretty—a bright hazel that seemed to shine with gold near the pupils. "We've tried everything. Please let us call Andrew. It'll get fixed then."
"You know that to get Andrew we have to go through Bishop Maxwell," Renaldo scolded. The entire room erupted in protests.
"I've got to get this report to Maxwell's office ASAP!"
"His Holiness's office is expecting these end-of-month files by tonight, Father!"
"If Maxwell had any sense, he'd just break down and petition the Accounting Offices for a new copier," the woman with the ginger curls complained. "The one we have now is older than Anderson."
"Where is Anderson?" another asked suddenly. "I bet he might be able to lift it up and jostle it around a bit—see if it could shake the machinery loose or something." His statement was met with a chorus of approval and a few black-cloaked Iscariots broke from the pack hanging around the copier to head off through the maze of cubicles that stretched as far as Seras could see.
"I'll see if he's in his office," Renaldo assured them. "But until I find him, or convince the bishop to call for Andrew, then you'll just have to do without it, or walk down the street to the warehouse and see if they'll let you use their copier." He turned and motioned Seras and Integra onwards, pointing out the door that led to the stairwell.
"If you don't mind me asking," Seras asked when they began to climb the stairs, "Who's Andrew?" Father Renaldo shook his head.
"Not who," he gasped, puffing as he climbed the stairs. Integra was faring a little better than him, but Seras had already outpaced them both. It helped when you didn't have to breathe and your muscles never ached from overuse. "They mean Section XI Andrew; they're in charge of general repair and restoration for the Vatican offices."
"Oh. So… they're the ones who have to repaint all the frescos and things?" Seras asked, ignoring Integra's "be-quiet" glare.
"The very ones." Renaldo paused for breath at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing before coughing and pointing ahead to the carpeted hallway. The women moved together down it.
"Quit talking to them. Bunch of Papists—they're not worth your breath," Integra muttered. Seras smiled and chuckled, the sound condescending. She was beginning to see why Walter had warned her to "make sure things go smoothly" before they left. If left to its own devices, Sir Integra's prejudice would be the start of a holy war.
"You know, they're humans too," she replied softly. "I mean, that could have been the old copier in the library at home. Those Iscariots could have been Hellsing soldiers. Human nature is always the same, no matter where you go." She paused. "Maybe you have to stop being human to learn that," she mused, eyes distant.
She was so caught up in her sudden epiphany that she nearly ran into the doorframe at the end of the hall. Integra managed to grab her arm and pull her back, but the girl stumbled and only some quick footwork kept her from knocking over a fan palm in an expensive looking vase sitting near the window.
"Careful," Renaldo warned, frowning as he watched the nouveau-riche vase being put in unnecessary danger. "Many of these are antiques, older than I am," he added imperiously, moving around them to knock on the elegantly carved door.
"Enter." Renaldo opened the door and moved ahead of them to announce their arrival.
"Bishop Maxwell—Sir Hellsing and… guest," he faltered, looking at Seras as if trying to decide what term might best sum her up. Enrico Maxwell sat behind a tall mahogany desk, gazing at them apathetically. He was dressed as opulently as ever, as though wearing lavish garments cemented the fact that he was highest in the pecking order compared to everyone else in the building. His hair was combed back neatly in its ponytail, not a strand out of place. His silver spectacles sat on the edge of his long nose.
The entire office was kept in pristine order; the bookshelf seemed to be dusted and sorted by alphabetical order, the desk was free of papers and the surface was polished—even the carpet was virtually free of debris. It looks better than my office, Integra admitted to herself as she took in the scene. But my office proves that I have a heavy workload. Perhaps he doesn't do any work at all, she added inwardly with a sense of smug amusement. It wouldn't surprise me.
"Before you begin, Bishop Maxwell: are you aware that the copier machine is broken again? You have an angry mob downstairs who insists that someone from Andrew come and fix it promptly." Maxwell sigh mirrored Renaldo's at the news.
"Yes, yes, have someone come fix it. They can't seem to get it through their thick skulls that we don't have money to drop on new equipment every quarter," he muttered, and Integra felt a quick pang of empathy for the man. She quickly squashed it back down; even if she did understand his financial plight from personal experience… that was no reason to soften up. She had the sneaky suspicion that Maxwell just wasn't a man to be trusted, even if he did claim to work for God. The memory of what transpired at the museum a few years ago only further cemented the notion.
Father Renaldo nodded and backed away, closing the door behind him as he left the office. Maxwell suppressed another sigh and picked up an expensive-looking ballpoint pen, pulling a legal pad towards him and scribbling down a memo in Italian. He rubbed one temple and then laced his fingers, looking haughtily at them.
"Well, Sir Integra Hellsing," he finally spoke, ignoring Seras completely. The Draculina didn't seem to mind; instead she had her head cocked slightly towards the closed door, and Integra wondered if she might have been trying to listen to the copier problems downstairs. With her vampiric senses, it was entirely possible.
"Maxwell," she replied curtly, taking a seat without waiting for him to offer one. His smile was clearly forced as he unlaced his fingers and tapped the few papers he did have on the desk in front of him. "Hurry up and say your piece; unlike some people, I have important work to do."
"Let's not fight; after all, this is only day one. We still have two more days of each other's company. We should both try and make this as easy as possible," he said, sounding as though he were quoting someone else. He slid the topmost paper towards her along with his ballpoint pen.
"What's this?" she asked, picking up the document and eyeing it speculatively.
"It's a simple contract, nothing more." Maxwell's smile became less frozen and more conniving as he spoke. "It states that while you're within the confines of the Vatican City's borders, you forfeit your right to call your little pet monster to your side. We can't take any chances while our upmost important people are all gathered together."
"This sounds far more suspicious than mere defense, Maxwell," Integra argued as she looked over the exhausting legal jargon written on the page. "After all, if I can't call my vampire than wouldn't I be unprotected?" The archbishop pointed at Seras.
"There's your protection, or have you already forgotten?" he asked with a wicked glee. "If you remember, we said you could bring whatever security you thought was necessary, save Alucard. If you only brought one bodyguard, then that's your fault." He paused for a moment before pointing again. "As such, she needs to sign this paper too. Don't want to leave any loopholes, you see. I'm sure a busy woman like you understands the need for thoroughness, especially in thesematters."
Integra bit her lip as she scanned the contract again, carefully reading over the fine print. She really had no choice, did she? Then again, did she have cause to worry? It was only a few days, and Seras could be counted on if things went south. She didn't need to fight, per say; she just needed to protect Integra long enough for them to pass the borders of the city and then they could call for Alucard.
She wrinkled her nose, but obligingly took the pen without a fuss and signed her name with a flourish on the topmost line. Seras looked hesitant, but after a reassuring nod from Integra she also took the pen in hand and signed.
He took it with a shit-eating grin and stamped the corner with a gold-embossed symbol. Seras shivered again and this time, Integra felt something akin to cold water trickling down her spine. She had to sit ramrod straight to keep a shudder from overtaking her body as well. She knew then that the contract was more than simple "I trust you" legal terms. Maxwell had done something supernatural to it, and Integra was sure the repercussions would be far worse than settlement fees.
"Now that that's out of the way, His Holiness should be nearly ready to—"
"Damn this blasted piece o' machinery to hell and back again!" Seras nearly jumped out of her coat and even Maxwell seemed shocked as the thunderous voice sounded at the top of its lungs. His eyes widened and he coughed, standing up as Renaldo reentered without knocking, mopping his brow with a kerchief.
"Father Anderson has had no luck with the copier," he announced. "And Andrew can't get anyone out here until tomorrow afternoon. As such, here is a list of document deferments for you," he said, brandishing a thick stack of papers. "If you would, please sort through them at your earliest convenience." Maxwell scowled, but sat the papers on his desk and all but pushed everyone out of his office.
When they reached the Iscariot's floor again, the situation was nearly the same. The biggest difference was that the copier was now leaking copious amounts of ink onto the beige carpet, turning it a sickly color that resembled macadam. The Iscariots whose cubicles were nearest the copier were rolling their chairs back as far as possible, their eyes cautiously watching the approaching flood of ink as they gathered their long robes up off the floor.
Paladin Alexander Anderson, the source of the outburst, was currently standing off to the side and scratching his head as the ink continued to pour out of the copier's bowels. He looked up as they entered, his eyes glancing over Maxwell and Renaldo but lingering on Integra, and then Seras. He frowned in contempt and his eyes narrowed as he watched them. Seras squeaked and hid behind Integra, who returned the icy gaze tenfold as she allowed Renaldo to move ahead of her to the elevator.
"Anyone who procrastinated until the last day and then had the nerve to turn in a deferment better have that piece of paper off my desk by the time I get back," Maxwell warned, the even tone unable to hide his anger and impatience. "I don't want to hear it!" he shouted when a cry of outrage rang up from his subordinates. "You lazy bunch; Sloth is a sin!" He glared at them all before entering the elevator last and pushing the button so hard that it was stuck for a moment, forcing Father Renaldo to pound the metal wall in order for it to pop back into place.
"Thank you for coming all of this way to see me." The Pope was nothing like Integra had ever thought he would be. She'd always imagined him as she'd seen on the newsfeeds, dressed up in red and gold with a staff and surrounded by legions of obedient followers. But the person before her looked less like a divine leader and more like… well, a person.
He was a little old man, wrinkled and dressed in a simple white habit with a matching cap. The only jewelry she could see was the rings on his fingers, and there was no staff in sight. He sat on a comfortable looking chair that matched the one they'd placed her in. The only ones in the room were herself and Seras, the Pope, Father Renaldo, and Maxwell. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn it was just a simple meeting like she was used to at the palace in England.
"You're quite welcome," Integra said, making an effort to be polite. The man looked like he could have been Walter's age, and he was clearly no real threat to her. "Though I must admit, your invitation surprised me. I was certain you were planning another crusade against me with your little bishop in the corner over there," she half-joked, nodding at Maxwell.
The bishop in question's nostrils flared at the tone she took with his boss; she knew in his mind, he was cursing her up and down for acting as if she was the Pope's equal. But in her mind, she was in the right—she answered to the Queen, not some old man in Italy. The Pope chuckled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.
"Oh, Maxwell manages to get ahead of himself every now and again," the man said in a slow, sure voice. He spoke as if the bishop wasn't in the room. "But I can honestly say that I wish nothing more than to work with the Church of England as partners—we are all God's children, and we should work together towards a more harmonious existence."
"I'm glad we're of one mind," Integra replied, settling back in her chair and taking on her usual confident stance. She wished she had a cigar, but she'd promised to keep her addiction out of the holy buildings while on her stay. "There's no need to fight it out with each other at every turn, especially when half the time our goals are the same."
"Yes, yes," the pope agreed softly. "We must protect humanity from dark secrets, and in turn we have become the dark secrets… for over two thousand years," he trailed off, looking at the stained glass windows high above them. "I hope you will allow me to ask a few questions of you. I wish to better understand Hellsings."
"Well, I'm well prepared to answer any question you have about our organization—within reason, of course," Integra conceded with a wry smile. However, the Pope held up a hand and shook his head.
"No, you misunderstand me. I mean I wish to understand more about Hellsing, as in the familial line, not the military organization. Your ancestors were very mysterious, and I confess, I am curious to know a little more about the extent of your power."
"I don't understand how knowing about my family can help your cause, sir." Integra's brow arched. Again, the Pope shook his head.
"Forgive me, but I must conceal my thoughts for this moment. I'm afraid I've been left to my own thoughts for so long that I must now pose the questions. But I assure you that if you are honest in your answers, I, too, will give you the answers you seek when we are finished." Integra was silent for a long moment, trying to decide what he meant by his roundabout information-gathering.
"Fine. I'll answer… again, within reason," she acquiesced with a quick nod. The Pope smiled.
"I am grateful for any and all cooperation, and I am sure that Bishop Maxwell is grateful as well." He turned to the younger man, whose face darkened when he realized the Pope wanted a response. He bowed, but his smile was grim.
"Yes, very grateful," he parroted, but his eyes showed that perhaps he wasn't quite as appreciative as the Pope.
"Well then… firstly, do you know what I mean when I speak of "primogeniture"?" Integra's eyes widened in surprise.
"Naturally," she answered. "It's the entailing of estates through family lines. Why?"
"Well, I assume that you have gotten your position, and your organization, through primogeniture. You are an only child, are you not?"
"I am. My mother passed when I was born, and my father never remarried." She frowned in puzzlement. "What does this have to do with anything?" The Pope laced his fingers and leaned forward, his bones creaking audibly in protest. He winced, but rested his chin on his hands and looked at her thoughtfully.
"And your power over the vampire Alucard… was that something acquired through primogeniture as well?"
"Well," Integra paused, brow furrowing. "Yes, I suppose so."
"You aren't sure?"
"It's complicated. When my father died, he named me head of the family. I became the heir to Hellsing. But my father's brother," she faltered again, rubbing her right arm. "My father's brother was also still alive, and the house was entitled to him in the case of my father's passing. So until my uncle died, I had the Hellsing status but not the estates, I think."
"And what of Alucard? Did he obey your uncle's commands?"
"Not once in his life," Integra guaranteed him. "My uncle did not live a full three days after my father's death, so there really wasn't any time." Seras, who had been listening in curiously, noted that she didn't say a word about Alucard being in a magically-induced slumber at the time.
"I am sorry for that," the Pope said, his own brow furrowing at the thought of the woman losing two family members within the same week. Integra shook her head with a rather cynical smirk.
"I'm not. My uncle tried to murder me for control over the family. I was… glad to see him dead." The Pope's eyebrows lifted in shock.
"My, my," he murmured. "What a shame. But, as they say, all families have their black sheep." The room was silent for a long time. Then, he spoke again, his words ringing out and breaking the serenity. "Now, let's say that you die. Who would get control over Alucard then?"
"No one," she answered firmly, feeling a small jolt in her heart. Were they trying to kill her?! "The next heir would have to be related to me, and I have no relations alive." The Pope nodded.
"And if you were married?" Integra shook her head once more.
"That's not enough. They have to be blood of my blood—they have to have the blood of Abraham van Helsing running through their veins. Otherwise, the Cromwell restrictions fail and Alucard is released into the world with all his powers fully intact." The Pope looked worried when she revealed this.
"Just as I feared," he said in an anxious tone. "And I suppose your English government is attempting to take measures against such a horrendous disaster?" Integra's smile faltered and then disappeared completely.
"Well… I suppose one day I'll have to get married and have a child." She saw Seras look at her strangely and ignored the Draculina, her eyes trying to remain focused on the old man sitting across from her. "But until then, there's not much they can do."
"And they have a husband picked out for you?" Integra blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then laughed.
"We're not entirely archaic, sir," she replied, amused. "When the time comes, I'll pick my own husband. No one's going to tell me who I can and can't marry. Unless it's on direct orders from the Queen, they can take their orders and go to hell with them." Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd let slip out, in front of the holiest of holy men at that. But the Pope didn't seem offended; instead, he joined in her laughter.
"My child, you are quite the lady," he chortled. "It's been a pleasure to meet you finally, after hearing about you so often. I can see now that the rumors are true; it's easy to believe that you can run circles around my men and keep them guessing." He twiddled his thumbs, his smile fading. "You've given me much to think about," he added under his breath.
"Well, then before I leave, you can keep your end of the bargain. I gave you the information you wanted—now tell me why you wanted it in the first place." The Pope was quiet again, and Maxwell stepped forward.
"His Holiness has said that he wishes to think," he said coldly. "We should leave him to his—"
"No, Bishop," the Pope held up a wrinkled hand, rings glinting in the fading afternoon light. "She is right. She's upheld her part, and now it's my turn." Maxwell looked livid, but obediently backed into his corner once more when Seras huffed and took a half-step towards him.
"It's a little known fact," he began suddenly, "that the cardinals and priests we keep are merely a front for the general population." He tilted his head and studied her. "As you well know, there's much, much more that goes on behind the scenes. I asked you about primogeniture because I was curious how you English do things. Although many of my men wouldn't like to admit it, your ways are, in actuality, quite similar to our own."
"Is that so?" Integra drawled, tilting her own head to mirror his stance. She wanted to seem uninterested, but her damnable curiosity reared its head and she couldn't help but want to know more. After all, this was secret Vatican information that she might not be able to get her hands on any other way. It was her duty as a Round Table Knight to learn about the opposition.
"Oh, yes. While many of our positions are made so that anyone can aspire to them, a few select jobs are… special." Integra let him stay quiet for a length, and then she couldn't help herself.
"Such as?" She cleared her throat and played it down. "I don't think I quite catch your meaning, sir."
"For example…" he thought a moment. "You are familiar with Father Alexander Anderson of Section XIII, are you not?" Seras grimaced from her spot well out of the Pope's line of view, but Renaldo still caught the gesture and frowned in a rebuking way.
"I am."
"Well, you may be surprised to know that Paladin Anderson is only our third Regenerator." Integra was surprised to hear it, but she knew better than to let it show. Instead, she nodded for him to continue. "It's a work in progress, but Anderson is our best yet. We're still working out the kinks, though. My guess is that our fourth Regenerator will be the crowning glory for the scientists at work on the serum."
"That's very interesting, but what does it have to do with—"
"It takes a very special sort of body to handle the effects of Regeneration," the Pope cut in. "After all, the human takes on various characteristics that can affect the body in different ways. If we don't have that one body with the perfect genetic code—the results range from unsettling to downright ghastly."
"You really should visit the labs while you're here, if you're interested in that sort of thing," he added. "The men and women of Section IX are always happy to talk about their work. They can tell you far more interesting things than I can about the process." Integra nodded, though she didn't really accept or deny the offer. "Yes… now where was I?"
"Primogeniture," Father Renaldo piped up helpfully.
"Ah, of course." The Pope shifted in his seat. "The second Regenerator—you won't know him, but your father or grandfather would have most certainly dealt with him—was one Father D'Arcy of France. He was nearly—no, he was running out of time when we finally found our next perfect body, lying in a trench after the Second World War with a bullet hole through his face. We brought him back, cleaned him up, nursed him back to health and he's been with us ever since."
"Charming," Integra responded, her nose wrinkling at the gory thought. "I still don't see what primogeniture has to do with any of this."
"Genomic Primogeniture," the Pope answered grandly. When no one said anything, he coughed. "The inheritance of genes. Our perfect body is nearing the end of his usefulness—60 years is our max, but 50 years make a good average, and Father Anderson is nearing his 53rd year with us."
"While his mind is old in spirit, his body is still young, and he can still produce a child. With his perfect genes, plus the genes from the mother, a perfect child could be made." The Pope finished, clearly expecting agreement from his guests. Instead, Integra gazed at him in disbelief before finding her voice.
"So your plan is to… breed Regenerators." She couldn't keep the disgust out of her voice. "That's vile, even for a bunch of Pap—" she stopped, not trusting herself to say more. The Pope looked amused, as if he were a schoolmaster teaching a skeptical child.
"Of course it sounds bad, when you say it that way," he said with a smile. "But when it's for the greater good, then certain conventions must be overlooked. I assure you, Father Anderson is perfectly aware of his duty towards the Church, which must soon be fulfilled. Like his predecessor, he's running out of time. We've tested the orphanage children, as well as those of the members of Iscariot, but none of their genes meet the qualifications." He sighed. "I don't understand the particulars, but I'm assured that the genetic code is quite rare."
"How do you even know if it will pass from parent to child?" Integra asked, part of her feeling as though the entire matter was completely abhorrent, but the more scientific side of her was intrigued at the ideas the scientists were suggesting. She wondered what code they needed; if she could just look at it, just once, and sate her curiosity… perhaps there was a reason to visit the labs after all.
"We have records," Father Renaldo replied simply, before the Pope could even speak. "When Anderson's father died in the early 1960s, we ordered a specialized blood test as part of the autopsy. His father was also a carrier of this rarer code."
"But again, I don't know very much about particulars. You would have to speak to the Regeneration technicians." The Pope waved a hand dismissively. "You really should visit them. Maxwell, take her before they leave for the day. She would find it quite interesting, I believe."
Maxwell nodded stiffly, but didn't speak.
The scientists that worked in Section IX's dimly lit laboratories were the most jovial, outspoken people that Integra had met in quite a while. When they'd arrived at the unassuming building, simply marked I.X. Laboratories (for the public's benefit, she was sure), Maxwell had taken off and returned with a small woman in a lab coat that he introduced simply as "The Head Technician".
"Hello there!" the woman said in a cheerful American accent. She was a pale woman, her round cheeks smattered with freckles and the veins on her jaw showing when she pushed her ash-brown hair back behind her ears. She wore thick glasses and when she smiled, Integra could see that one of her upper front teeth was chipped. " Welcome! What brings you here today?"
"I'm touring the Vatican facilities," Integra said hesitantly as the woman rocked on her heels, her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "I came here because I had some questions about the Regeneration process." The Head Technician rubbed her hands together gleefully.
"Ooh, that's one of my favorite topics, considering I'm at the head of the research!" she crowed, and then jerked her head in a motion for them to follow. "Come along with me. I'll take to you Lab 18. That's where the magic happens."
The lab was sterile and drab gray, a striking contrast to the woman sitting inside it looking a microscope slide. Her hair was four different colors; turquoise cascaded down her back and turned to a lovely midnight blue at the bottom of the long strands, and the bangs hanging in her face were dark purple with pink tips. She looked up when they entered, adjusting her glasses on her nose and grinning just as cheerfully as the Head Technician.
"This is my partner in crime," the Head Technician said triumphantly, clapping the scientist on the back as she passed by. "Helped me uncover a few mysteries back in the day, actually." She motioned to Integra as she spoke to her partner. "They want to know about Regeneration techniques."
"Cool," the colorful scientist replied, turning on her stool. "At the moment, I'm actually looking through another batch of DNA to see if I can find a match from the newest kids at the orphanage."
"I was told the code had to be special," Integra said.
"Yep!" The colorful scientist chirped. "It's actually got to have a strand almost like a mutation. At the moment, we're just calling it "Strand R" for lack of a better term. Once we manage to find a person with it, we can work with them to make the operation a success. Sadly, lessthan 1% of the Earth's population is thought to carry the gene." She made a pouting face. "Not good for us, since Maxwell is always down our damn throats about it."
"Why?"
"If we can't find another child with the proper genes, old Andy's gonna have to marry and have a kid of his own. Maxwell doesn't want that, 'cause…." The colorful scientist trailed off with a shrug. "He might have the hots for him. I don't know."
"You do too know," the Head Technician scolded as she came back from another room, carrying a jar in her hands. "Don't spread gossip like that—you'll have Thomas-es crawling all over the poor guy's office in an Inquisition." She addressed Integra and Seras, sitting the jar on a long table nearby. "Maxwell doesn't want Anderson to marry because A—it'll be a lot of money spent testing the women, and B—being married cuts work production in half."
"Testing?" Seras asked in confusion. The Head Technician nodded sagely.
"Absolutely. The mother will have to be tested to make sure her genes won't dominate over Strand R. It's clearly a Recessive gene, but for the life of us we can't figure out why it doesn't behave like the rest of the traits do. You remember doing the Punnett Squares in school? Ab, Bb? Well, Strand R doesn't behave like a normal recessive trait. It goes AR, Rb, in a layman's most basic sense." Seras and Integra both stared blankly at the woman.
"It just doesn't act right," the colorful scientist summed up. "We dunno why. And only certain women's genes will allow the Strand R to show up as dominant instead. Ipso facto, we have to do fucktons of blood testing in here, all the time." She sighed and shook her head.
"That's the truth," the Head Technician said with a solemn nod. She picked up the jar again and presented it to the ladies. "This—go on, hold it; that's right—this is Regeneration serum. This stuff finds Strand R and goes apeshit with it."
"Ape-shit?" Seras sputtered as Integra sloshed the liquid around in the jar, holding it up to the light. It had the consistency of water, but the bubbles stayed suspended in the liquid's core.
"Yeah. Mutates the hell out of it," the Head Technician replied. "Complete reordering of the body's natural functions. Strand R takes the brunt of it, though other chromosomes get a nice little boost as well."
"What happens if there's no Strand R?" Integra asked. The Head Technician was quiet and shared a look with her fellow scientist. They both shook their head with a wince. "Bad?"
"Terrible," the colorful scientist agreed.
"Horrendous," the Head Technician offered. "We tried before, and it was…" she shuddered. "Poor guys."
"Poor girls," the colorful scientist added. "Remember that third one, back when we both first got here? The one with the overbite?" They both cringed and the Head Technician actually gagged. "But that was long ago, before we even discovered Strand R."
"In any case," the Head Technician said as she recovered, "that liquid is the key to Regeneration, specifically healing and longevity. Its water from the Fountain of Youth!" she joked.
"How does the process work?"
"Glad you asked!" the Head Technician smiled. "Andy—er, Father Anderson was brought here when I had just finished grad school. I got to see his Regeneration firsthand. You see, they have to kill you before they do it, so that your body accepts it." She paused. "It's like resetting a computer when you update the software. If you turn everything off, it won't update like it's supposed to."
"You drain all the blood out first," the colorful scientist said with a sense of dark glee. "They look pale as ghosts, but we keep their heart pumping with that machine over there," she pointed towards a bulky object covered with a cloth. "Then, you pour the serum through their veins, and give it about an hour to work through completely. Pump the blood back in afterwards and you're done!"
"But how do you keep the blood from going bad?" Integra asked, one brow arching. "Outside of the body, it wouldn't last long." The scientists shared a smirk.
"Company secret," the Head Technician said at length. "I can't tell you how. Just know that our process works." She scratched her calf with the edge of her white sneaker. "Anyway, so that's the main process. Every twenty years or so, we add newer serum to the veins by IV, but none so massive as that first major operation. Anderson's been doing good, but his time is getting short, I reckon."
"The Pope said that too," Integra mused. "What do you mean by that? How is his time getting short?"
"Degeneration usually starts about year 80," the colorful scientist declared, looking back down at her slide and rotating the intensity knob on the base of the microscope. "When that hits, no amount of serum is going to help you anymore. One of our main objectives here is to make serum that prolongs the life of the user. Our first goal was serum that lasted 80+ years. Now it's serum that last's 120+ years. Next, who knows?"
"De-generation?" Seras repeated slowly, taking the jar from Integra and shaking it quickly, trying to dislodge the bubbles with no success, though the liquid sloshed almost violently in the container. "The opposite of Re-generation, I guess?"
"More or less," the Head Technician conceded, hopping onto the table and sitting there, elbows on her knees as she leaned over to speak to them. "The body begins to disintegrate. It takes a major nosedive and death comes when the lungs and heart finally fail. A human body isn't made to run so long, even with a mutant strand of DNA in there."
"That's awful!" Seras exclaimed. The Head Technician shrugged one shoulder dismissively.
"It's not a one-day process," she explained lazily. "The last Regenerator took about 10 years to fully Degenerate. With our advanced serum, I'll give Father Anderson about 25 years. He might not be much use after year 80, and he'll most likely be wheelchair-bound at some point, but his quality of life won't be fully affected until he reaches a century. That's my guess, anyway."
"She betted me $50 he lasts that long," the colorful scientist admitted. "I betted her $100 he only lasts 88 at most." She looked up, blinked, adjusted her glasses, and took another look at the slide. "That's if he doesn't get pulled apart by a vampire first."
Afterword: The afterword for this story will be dedicated to links for the songs that serve as the chapter headings.
Since this is "Prelude", which can technically mean a lot of songs, I'm putting my favorite prelude in here: one from my main man Chopin (hey, it rhymes!)
Frederic Chopin: Prelude in E Minor
www . youtube watch?v = ef-4Bv5Ng0w
^^You know the drill-just fill in the spaces, or use the title to look it up!^^
